


Falling in Love All Over Again

by CelestialVoid



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Amnesiac Stiles Stilinski, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Boys Kissing, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gentle Kissing, Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Stiles Stilinski, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Mentioned Allison Argent, Mentioned Gerard Argent, One Shot, Rebuilt Hale House, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Short One Shot, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27638504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialVoid/pseuds/CelestialVoid
Summary: Stiles wakes up in hospital after an accident, but he doesn’t remember anything… or anyone.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 19
Kudos: 491





	Falling in Love All Over Again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EvanesDust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvanesDust/gifts).



> Happy birthday, evanesdust! ❤

He slowly blinked his eyes open, wincing as he stared up at the bright LED lights and the white insulated panels of the ceiling. He struggled to keep his eyes open, blinking heavily as his vision slowly came into focus.

He felt weak, his body aching as he struggled to move, trying to turn his head and look around the room.

His breathing felt heavy, every breath sending shooting pain through his chest.

He let out a weak groan.

“Hey,” someone said, their voice soft.

He turned his head slightly to look at the woman who stood beside him. She was in her thirties and wore teal scrubs. A small gold necklace hung around her neck, the pendant was woven strands of gold with four gemstones set into the design. Her soft face was worn with creases, a kind smile lifting the corners of her mouth. Her eyes were like dark smoky quartz and her gaze was soft. Her long dark hair had been pulled back in a ponytail, falling in messy waves down her back. A few curls had escaped the elastic tie, falling down around her face. She smelt like roses and something nostalgic.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

He paused for a moment, taking everything in.

“Sore,” he answered, his voice raspy and broken.

“I’ll give you something to help with that,” she said. “Can you tell me your name?”

He paused, searching his mind for anything that seemed familiar, but he couldn’t think of anything. His eyes widened slightly as a sickening feeling of fear settled in his stomach. He shook his head.

“That’s okay,” the nurse reassured him. “Do you know where you are?”

“Hospital,” he guessed.

His answer brought a smile to her face. “Which hospital?”

“I don’t know,” he answered.

“Okay, do you remember what happened to you?”

He shook his head, fighting back the tears that welled in his eyes; he didn’t like feeling this way, he didn’t like feeling lost, confused and helpless.

“Do you know how old you are?” the nurse asked.

“No,” He answered.

“Do you know your birthday?”

He shook his head.

The nurse nodded, bowing her head slightly s she looked down at her chart.

He swallowed hard against the growing lump in his throat, fighting back the wave of nausea as his stomach twisted in knots.

“What happened to me?” he asked.

“You were in an accident,” she explained. “You took quite a blow to the head and it seems to have affected your memory. But it’ll be alright; a lot of the time, memory loss is temporary and your memories come back after some rest or by triggers—people, places, smells, etcetera.”

“How long do you think it’ll take for my memories to come back?” he asked.

A solemn look passed over her face. Her voice was apologetic as she said, “It could be a few hours, or a few days—maybe even a few weeks. There’s no way to know for sure.”

He nodded.

“I’ll check in on you in a little while,” the nurse said as she returned the clipboard to the end of his bed. “Try and get some rest, okay?”

“Wait,” he called after her.

She stopped and turned back to him.

“What’s my name?” he asked, trying to hide the desperation in his voice.

“Stiles,” she answered. “Stiles Stilinski.”

Stiles let out a sigh as he woke to the sound of voices.

“Just take it easy,” he heard the nurse – Melissa, she’d said her name was – said quietly.

Stiles shifted slightly, pushing himself upright slightly and sitting back against his pillows.

Two men entered the room. The first looked to be middle age, his fawn-brown hair thinning slightly and his face worn with wrinkles. His hazel eyes looked at Stiles with a mix of pain, worry and love. He wore a dark windcheater with a logo on the sleeve that had the letters B.H.P.D embroidered into it and a brown shirt with a gold-plated name badge pinned above his breast pocket that read STILINSKI.

The other man had raven-black hair and a strong jaw shadowed by the thin scruff of a beard. His pale aventurine eyes were mesmerising. He wore a faded grey Henley and a worn black leather jacket.

Stiles looked between the two of them, hoping his nervousness didn’t show.

“Hey, kiddo,” the older man said softly. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Stiles lied.

The man with the black hair let out a sigh that ended in a breathless chuckle.

“What?” Stiles asked.

“That’s what you always say when ‘fine’ is the last thing you’re feeling,” the man said.

Stiles dropped his gaze.

These two seemed to know him well—one called him ‘kiddo’ and the other could read him.

“Do you know who we are?” the older man asked.

Stiles looked at him, letting his gaze linger as he took in every detail of the man’s face. There was something familiar about the lines on his face—as if every one of them told a story. There was something familiar about the hints of brown in his hazel eyes. There was something familiar about him, but Stiles couldn’t place it—like a word stuck on the tip of his tongue.

Stiles looked at him apologetically and shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” the man said.

“Your nametag says Stilinski,” Stiles pointed out. “Melissa said my name was Stilinski.”

“Yeah,” the man replied. “I’m John Stilinski… I’m your dad.”

“My dad?” Stiles repeated back.

“Yeah,” he replied. He looked across to the man who stood at the end of the bed. “And this is Derek.”

Stiles met his gaze.

The corner of Derek’s lips turned up in a soft smile.

“Your boyfriend,” John clarified.

Stiles’ eyes widened with shock. He turned to John. “Seriously?”

John nodded.

Stiles looked at Derek then back at John. “You’re kidding, right? He’s _way_ out of my league.”

Derek let out a low chuckle, bowing his head slightly as he tried to hide the rosy blush that coloured his cheeks.

“John,” Melissa called from the doorway, nodding towards the hallway.

“I’ll be right back,” his dad said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before heading towards the door.

“So,” Stiles started slowly when it was only him and Derek. “How long have we been dating?”

“Six years,” Derek answered. “Nearly seven.”

Stiles was stunned. He bowed his head, his mind reeling as he tried to make sense of everything—tried to grasp at threads of thoughts or hidden memories.

“It’s okay,” Derek said softly. “You don’t have to remember everything right away. It must be weird looking at a stranger and being told you’ve been together six years.”

“It’s a little unnerving,” Stiles admitted.

“Don’t worry; I’m not going to try and kiss you or do anything that’ll make you uncomfortable,” Derek reassured him. “I’ll give you as much space as you want, but I’ll be here if you need me.”

Stiles let out a soft sigh. “Thank you.”

Stiles looked down at the foot of his bed.

“Can you pass me my chart?” Stiles asked.

Derek’s brow furrowed slightly with confusion, but he stepped down to the end of the bed and passed the clipboard to Stiles nonetheless.

Stiles read it.

“Wait,” he said, his brow knitted together as looked down at the page. “That’s not my name.”

Derek stepped over to Stiles side, looking over his shoulder at the clipboard.

“Yeah, it is,” Derek said. “It’s your given name, but you go by Stiles.”

“I don’t even know how to say that,” Stiles said.

“Mieczyslaw.”

“Mieczyslaw,” Stiles repeated. He skimmed down the page as he read aloud, “Broken ribs, fractured left wrist, ligaments in shoulders strained and slightly torn, blunt force trauma to head, bruises and lacerations, memory loss—possible retrograde amnesia.”

He set the clipboard down in his lap, trying to hide the broken look on his face, but apparently Derek knew him better that Stiles thought.

“It’s going to be okay,” he reassured him. “Whatever happens, we’ll get through it.”

Stiles looked up at him, his dark eyes full of gratitude.

Derek offered him a reassuring smile.

Stiles smiled in return.

“What’s your favourite colour?” Stiles asked.

“Orange,” Derek answered. “Like a sunset.”

Stiles thought for a moment. “What’s my favourite colour?”

“Blue,” Derek replied.

Stiles nodded, thinking it over.

“Tell me about yourself,” Stiles said, a hint of pleading in his voice.

“Um… My name’s Derek Hale. I have two sisters—one older, one younger. I was born and raised here in Beacon Hills – like you. I was orphaned when I was fifteen and older sister took us to New York, but we returned a few years later.” Derek thought for a moment. “I like dogs—and we planned to get one as soon as our house is ready.”

“We live together?”

“Yeah, we’ve lived together for three years now,” Derek answered. “We’re building a new house on my family’s land.”

“Wow,” Stiles said quietly, taken aback by how wonderful his life seemed.

“Sorry to interrupt,” John said, stepping back into the room. “Melissa said that maybe some photos will help.”

John set a plastic back down on the table at the end of Stiles’ bed. It had a bright red band across it with bold white letters that spelt out EVIDENCE. John opened it and pulled out the phone inside, passing it to Stiles.

Stiles looked down at the screen as it lit up. The phone was locked by a password.

Stiles swallowed hard against the lump in his throat as he tried to think.

“1107,” Derek said softly.

Stiles looked at him, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“It’s my birthday,” Derek explained.

Stiles typed in the password and the phone opened.

“You’re a romantic,” Derek teased.

Stiles let out a breathless chuckle. He opened the photos on his phone, starting at the most recent – a screenshot of a dog on a rescue site; probably the one they were going to adopt once their house is finished – and scrolling back through the photos.

There were pictures of him and Derek, him and his dad, him and a young man with short brown hair and a khaki police uniform—Jordan, his dad told him. There were several photos of him and Derek hanging out with a group of people that looked to be their age: a girl with copper-coloured hair and soft green eyes, a boy with a mop of brown hair and a crooked smile, a girl with long blonde hair, a boy with dark skin and a kind smile, and another boy with thick blond curls. Derek told him each of their names.

“You don’t remember anything about Scott?” his dad asked.

Stiles looked down at the picture again and shook his head. “Should I?”

“You’ve been best friends since you were four years old,” his dad explained. “Inseparable. Partners in crime. I thought maybe seeing his face would spark a few memories.”

Stiles set the phone down. His dark eyes glistened as tears began to well.

“I’m never going to remember, am I?” he said quietly, his voice strained and breaking. “I don’t remember my best friend, my boyfriend, or my own dad. I didn’t even know my own name until Melissa told me.”

“Hey,” Derek said softly, reaching out to take his hand. “It’s going to be okay. Maybe your memories will come back in a day or two.”

“Or maybe they’ll never come back,” Stiles countered.

“Then you get a second chance at life; not many people get that,” Derek said, trying to stay positive.

“I don’t want a second chance,” Stiles said, his voice quiet. “The life I had sounds pretty good.” He glanced at Derek, feeling shy as he added, “ _You_ sound great.” He blinked back his tears, his voice broken as he said, “I want that life back.”

“I know it must be frustrating, but we’ll give it a few days and see if there’s any change, okay?” Derek said, craning his neck to look Stiles in the eye, lovingly and reassuringly.

Stiles met his gaze, feeling the waves of anger and anxiety wash away. The weight in his chest lightened as he let out a calming sigh and nodded. He picked his phone up again and began to scroll through the photos.

There were photos of friends that Derek named for him, a lacrosse team, and a photo of four of them: Stiles, Scott, Lydia, and a young girl with long dark hair.

“That’s—”

“Allison,” Stiles said quietly, interrupting Derek.

Derek looked at him with a mix of confusion and hopeful excitement.

“Allison,” Stiles turned the name over, pulling on the tangled thread of memories.

He remembered her smile, her laugh. He remembered the way she held a bow and arrow with strength and unwavering composure. He remembered the sound of her hand hitting the ground—he hadn’t seen it, but he’d felt it. He remembered slowly returning to consciousness as he and Lydia stumbled out of the darkness and into the cool night air. He remembered the moment his heart broke when he saw her lifeless body cradled in Scott’s arm, her unmoving hand fallen aside.

There was a glimmer of a memory in the corner of his mind. He reached for it; the image of Allison’s silver necklace – a family heirloom in the shape of a crest with a rampant lion in the corner.

It was like a row of dominoes; one crashed into the other and the floodgates burst open. Waves of memories crashed over him.

“Stiles?”

Derek’s voice drew him back to reality.

Stiles looked up at him.

“Gerard,” he said.

“What?” Derek asked.

“Gerard Argent,” Stiles replied. “He’s the one who did this to me.”

“Gerard kidnapped you years ago, Stiles,” his dad said

“No, I remember. He drove me off the road and when I woke up again, I was in some kind of basement. My hands were in chains and I was hanging from the ceiling,” Stiles explained.

“Are you sure you’re remembering what happened a few days ago?” Derek asked.

“Titus,” Stiles said abruptly. “The dog we adopt, he’s a black Great Dane and we were going to call him Titus. I wanted that name because it’s the name of Damian Wayne’s dog from Batman comics and you agreed because it’s a reference to Shakespeare. You also wanted to adopt the German Sheppard at the shelter but we had to see how he goes with other dogs first. We were going to call him Achilles. But I also saw the way you looked at the Australian Sheppard, the old boxer, and the Bernese. And if we’re both being honest, we know we’re not leaving with only one or two of them.”

Derek just stared at him, stunned.

Stiles turned to his dad. “Whenever you order take out at the station you always order a beef burger with onion, lettuce, tomato, cheese, and ketchup, but Parrish always orders you a salad as well because you’re meant to be looking after your heart health after you were injured eight years ago. Your full name is Noah John Stilinski, but you’ve always gone by John because Noah was your father’s name. My given name is Mieczyslaw – after my maternal grandfather – but I could never pronounce it right so Mum would always jokingly call me ‘Mischief’—although the nickname got more fitting as I got older. And after you and Mum had a falling out with her family, you hated calling me by that name, so you came up with ‘Stiles’ and you’ve called me that ever since.”

He turned back to Derek. “Every morning, you make me a cup of coffee. I never ask for it, you just do it because you love me, and I love you. Your favourite book is _The Little Prince_ because your dad used to read it to you every night when you were little—I got you a hard-cover version of it for your birthday last year.”

He looked between the two of them.

“I remember,” he insisted. “I can even tell you where I hid the ring I was going to propose to Derek with.”

“You were going to propose to me?” Derek asked.

“The night I went missing,” Stiles admitted.

Derek let out a quiet laugh.

“What?” Stiles asked.

“I was going to propose to you that night too,” Derek confessed.

Stiles couldn’t help but laugh.

John stepped out of the room, but from the hallway Stiles could hear his dad call in a police search for Gerard Argent.

“So… Out of curiosity, if I had proposed to you, would you have said yes?” Derek asked hesitantly.

“Without hesitation,” Stiles said, smiling at Derek.

Derek let out a sigh of relief.

“I am still going to propose to you,” Stiles told him. “Just in a more romantic setting than this.”

Derek leant forward and pressed a soft kiss to Stiles’ bruised cheek.

“About the dogs,” Stiles started slowly as Derek sat back in his chair.

“You only want one?” Derek asked, heartbroken.

“Oh no,” Stiles replied. “I want all of them. Including the really old Great Pyrenees and the wrinkly little bulldog puppy.”

A bright smile lit up Derek’s face. “Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


End file.
